She shrugs and picks at the frayed edges along the hole. “What’s really going on?” I ask.
“It’s my family. Last night Brad called me out and told me he knew Tyler was made up, that I was into girls. He started giving me hell about you. And then I realized how unrealistic it would be to bring you as my Prom date, for us to be public girlfriends. My dad and Brad would flip.” I think of the prom photos in her living room. Her mom and dad. Brad and his date. I don’t fit in. The cross on the wall. She wipes her face and leaves a streak of mascara under her left eye. She doesn’t fix the smudge. “There is no way they will budge on their beliefs.”
“Your mom likes me.”
Madison shakes her head. “It’s not enough. And you said something yesterday that stuck with me—about how there are plenty of things I could be good at. I hate soccer. I don’t want to play next year. I’m telling my family after graduation that I’m turning down the scholarship to USF. They’re gonna freak. If I’m not playing next year, I need to try and make my family proud of me one last time.”
“By bringing some douche canoe to Prom and getting crowned Prom Queen.”
She smiles sadly. “I’m sorry, Avery.”
I am stone cold. The lyrics to Liz Phair’s “Fuck and Run” immediately come to mind. I would quote them to Madison, but she probably wouldn’t get it. I bet she’s never even heard of Liz. “This is just like a Liz Phair song,” I say.
“I don’t know who that is,” Madison says as she clenches and unclenches her hands. “Are you speaking in some kind of code?”
She fidgets in her seat and I think, Can I be with a someone who doesn’t know who Liz Phair is? I sing the chorus to “Fuck and Run” under my breath, but it is still loud enough for Madison to hear.
She looks at me like I need to be locked in a mental ward. “I don’t understand what you’re singing.”
“I should have known that this was going to happen,” I snap.
“You deserve better than this, better than me. It hurts to say it but it’s true. I’m not the girl for you.” Madison’s voice breaks on the last sentence.
You deserve better than this, better than me. It hurts to say it but it’s true. I’m not the girl for you. These would make great lyrics to the song I’ve started composing in my head. I can already feel the melody. It feels more Tegan and Sara than Taylor Swift. It is something I could sing solo at an open mic. Just me and my Seagull S6.
I meet her eyes and say, “Do you feel anything for me?”
I watch as the dam breaks and Madison stops holding back. Tears rain down her face as she says, “No.”
Her words take the breath out of my lungs. “Liar. I watched you come undone that afternoon in the girl’s bathroom. You can’t fake that.”
She shakes her head. “It was a mistake.”
“You didn’t act like it was a mistake.” I reach for her again but she shifts even closer to the passenger door. “Stop pushing me away.”
“I’m sorry,” is all she says. I stare at the rain falling in sheets outside. “We can still be friends. You’re like my best friend. I don’t want to lose you.”
I squint through the windshield at the sheets of rain coming down as I pull out of the parking lot. This is bullshit. “Do you think that it’s possible for us to stay friends? I’ve always tried to stay on good terms with all of my exes.”
“What about Miles?” I ask.
“Well, everyone but him,” she says.
A line from Liz Phair’s “Divorce Song,” pops into my head. I would play the song, but I don’t have it with me. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” I’ve never stayed friends with anyone I’ve hooked up with.
“So you don’t want to be friends?” she asks. She actually has the nerve to sound hurt, like she is the one whose heart is getting ripped from her chest and beaten with a hammer and then tossed into a garbage disposal. No. Tossed into a wood chipper. Now I know how Taylor Swift feels all the time. I could write a whole album about my heartbreak. I can call it Drowning. No. You Broke Me has a better ring to it. I can already taste the bitterness of that record.
“No, we can’t be friends. I had a best friend and I gave him up to be with you. And what do I get in return? My heart torn out and fed to velociraptors. It’s like a shitty country song.”
“I’m so sorry, Avery.” Her voice is small. “There aren’t velociraptors in country songs.”
I pull into the school entrance and stop at the student drop-off section.
“Aren’t you coming in?” she asks.
“I’m taking a personal day,” I say. “I loved you.” Madison grabs the messenger bag by her feet and opens it to double check that it is hers. “I fucking loved you.”
She doesn’t say anything to contradict my admission. She just opens the car door and makes a run for the school entrance.
In the last 24 hours I’ve lost my band, my best friend, my club, and my girlfriend. I pull out of the parking lot and head home to raid my mom’s Liz Phair albums. At least I still have music.
TWO WEEKS PASS with no communication between me and Scott. Or me and Madison. I cut most of my classes except for Spanish and math, where my grades are barely hovering above C-level. The rest of the time I hang out in my car during lunch or I ditch altogether to stay home and practice for the upcoming Open Mic Night at the Bean Tree.
Since I’ve pretty much lost everything, I have nothing left to lose by entering in an Open Mic Night. I arrive at the coffee shop early Friday evening to sign-up. It is more popular than I anticipated and I snag the last spot on the list. I start to order my almond milk latte and the lazy barista hands a steaming paper cup to me. The milk foam is in the shape of a heart. “Good luck tonight,” she says smiling. I reach for my wallet but she waves my hand away. “It’s on the house.”
“Thanks,” I say matching her smile. “That’s really awesome of you. What’s your name?”
“Taylor,” she says as I take a sip.
I try not to choke on my drink. “Any special requests, Taylor?”
She shrugs. “I’m sure whatever you pick will be good. Maybe some old school Ani?” She pauses before she adds, “I was at that show when you covered “You Had Time.” It gave me goose bumps. I couldn’t stop listening to the song after that.”
“Really?” I can’t hide my shock that the lazy barista, I mean Taylor, knows who I am.
“Yeah.”
“I think I know what I’m starting with.” I say. “Three-song set?”
“Yep.”
The crowd tonight is older, but not Alzheimer Cafe old. I don’t see anyone I recognize and my nerves dissipate slightly. I catch Taylor staring. She’s pretty in a Zooey Deschanel sort of way, but my heart doesn’t skip a beat like it did when Madison smiled at me. I turn my head and study the crowd.
The first act is a curvy blonde wearing a beach sarong. She does two original spoken word pieces before launching into an Ani DiFranco song. She makes eyes at Taylor the entire time. The next guy tests out a stand-up routine and bombs after the third joke. A couple of other singer-songwriters take the mic, and then the guy before me gets on stage and begins reciting The Canterbury Tales.
“What the hell is he saying? That’s not even English.” Scott plops down on the seat next to me holding a paper cup.
“I think it’s called Old English.”
“I think it’s called shut the fuck up,” he says.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Nice to see you, too,” he deadpans. “Like I would miss your for real solo debut,” he says.
“How did you know I was playing? I didn’t post it anywhere.”
“No, but your new girlfriend, Taylor, just did. She was totally fangirling you and Tweeting that you were here. So I came to see it for myself.”
“I had no idea she knew who I was before tonight.” I pause. “You follow her on Twitter?”
“Bitch, please,” Scott says. “I follow everyone on Twitter. And like yo
u really missed her making eyes at you every time she made you a latte?”
“Seriously, I didn’t know.”
He smiles. “I’m just pulling your chain. You’ve been gaga over she who shall not be named for months. Of course you didn’t notice.”
“We’re not together anymore,” I say staring at my cup. Only a tiny bit of the foam heart remains. The latte has gone cold.
“I figured,” he says. “You’ve been taking Senior Skip Day a little too seriously. Plus, she is moping around the halls like someone killed her cat.”
“She hates cats,” I say.
“Of course she does.” Canterbury guy finishes and everyone claps. “Thank God that’s over,” Scott says. “Go break a leg.” He nods in Taylor’s direction. “Or a heart.”
I take the stage. The crowd has tripled in size since I arrived. There are a few whistles as I take my seat at the mic. “I’m Avery Jennings,” I say and launch into “You Had Time.” I close my eyes and let the lyrics pour out of me. I try not to think of Madison while I play but it is impossible.
“That was some old school Ani by special request,” I say wiping the sweat gathering at my temples. “This next song is by Tegan and Sara. It goes out to someone who’s not here tonight.” I close my eyes and start playing “I Was a Fool.” My heart breaks for Madison all over again as I sing. When I open my eyes at the end of the song the blonde in the sarong is brushing away tears.
“My last song is an original,” my voice cracks. The weight of performing solo is heavy on my shoulders. “Sorry about that. I didn’t expect to go through puberty onstage.” The audience laughs. My plan was to sing the first Madison-inspired song I unveiled to the band all those months ago, but something holds me back. Instead I sing the song I wrote during our breakup in my car.
Raindrops on the car.
How did we get this far?
Tears in her eyes, her hands on my heart,
And she cries, “You deserve better than this, better than me.
It hurts to say it but it’s true. I’m not the girl for you.”
Scott’s been recording the whole set on his camera phone. He gives me a thumbs up as everyone claps.
“I guess that’s my set,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Encore,” someone from the back of the coffee shop yells. I start to get up but Taylor gestures for me to play another song.
“Okay, this is my last song. It’s called “Last Dance.” It’s another new one.” I play the opening chords to the song I penned just two days ago after I deleted Madison’s number from my phone. I’d started and stopped I miss you texts a dozen times. Rather than making an ass out of myself for something that wasn’t my fault I channeled all of that into “Last Dance.” It’s my farewell to Madison even if she never hears it. All of my emotions flood out. I’m not just crying as I sing, I’m dripping snot. It’s pathetic, but I play on.
The crowd gives me a standing ovation when I end the song. I smile and then duck away to wipe my face. I am naked without Janet and Monica behind me.
“Aside from your weepy lesbian routine, that wasn’t half-bad,” Scott says as I pack up my guitar.
“Why were you videoing me?”
“For your next band audition. Or blackmail.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re not sending that to anyone are you?”
“What?” He covers his mouth with his hand in mock embarrassment. “Whoops. I might have just sent that to Janet and Monica. And Lion Pride. And maybe the entire student body. And my Twitter feed.”
“Scott,” I hiss.
“Kidding,” he says. “Well about Lion Pride and the school. And Twitter. Not about DTG.”
“I can’t believe you did that.”
He shrugs. “They need to see how sad squirrel you are without them.”
I shake my head. “I can’t go back to them. Not after what was said.”
“Give them time,” he says as Taylor approaches.
“Nice set,” she says.
“Thanks for letting me tack on another song.”
“I think my tables might have been flipped if I hadn’t.” A shy smile breaks across her face as she hands me a paper cup. “I made you another latte. I also, um, wrote my number on it in case you want to hang out. You know, after you’re over the girl who broke your heart.”
“Thanks,” I say again feeling the heat in my cheeks.
“For what it’s worth,” she says. “She didn’t deserve you.”
“Seconded,” Scott adds as Taylor walks away. She looks back at me one more time before she disappears behind her counter.
“That’s a first.”
“She’s cute,” he says. “Not really your type, though. Not blonde enough.”
I pick up my guitar case with my free hand. “Does this mean we’re cool again?”
“Only because I need a ride.” I stop in my tracks. “I’m kidding. Of course we’re good. One fight in my driveway does not equal a divorce.”
“I missed you,” I say.
“I know,” he says holding the door open. “And you still owe me a pizza.”
THE ONLY REASON I go to school the Monday after my solo show is to see if Scott is right about Madison moping around. If she looks half as miserable as I feel right now, there might still be a sliver of a chance for us.
But Madison doesn’t look distraught when I walk into Spanish. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail and she is wearing a neon pink sweater. Madison raises her hand every time Señora Catalana asks a question. Not once does she look in my direction. I am invisible.
I use my new ghost status to follow her into the library at lunch to see if she is only pretending to be fine. The pink sweater could be her way of distracting everyone from her own melancholy. Even without the benefit of an audience, Madison looks happy. Normal even. The pink sweater is just her attempt to bring back the 80’s. Next week she’ll have leg warmers.
She wanders the stacks, running her finger along the spines, pausing every so often to check out a cover. The door of the library opens and Miles walks in, looking around. I duck behind a potted ficus tree before he can spot me lurking. The library is empty except for the three of us and the librarian reading a book with a bare-chested man on the cover.
Miles meets Madison at the encyclopedias, a mere four feet from my hiding spot. “What’s up?” He asks “I got your text.” There’s a pause before he says, “Why are we meeting in the Dungeon of Doom?”
“I like the library,” she says.
Miles shakes his head and mumbles something in response. I strain to hear him but it is useless.
“I wanted someplace quiet and private to talk to you.” Madison’s back is turned to me, but I have a clear view of her hand on his arm.
Their voices drop and I can’t make out this part of their exchange. Madison touching Miles speaks volumes.
I shift and try to lean closer to them and nearly lose my balance. The leaves on the fake tree rattle. Madison drops her hand and smoothes her ponytail.
“What about your homo dance?” This time Miles’s voice is loud and clear. It echoes throughout the empty library. The librarian makes a shushing motion with her index finger.
Madison’s voice is low, but I can still make out the part where she says, “I’m not involved with Unprom or Lion Pride anymore.”
“You sure were getting friendly with that annoying dyke,” My stomach clenches at the word. The librarian shushes him again and he ignores her. My fists clench. I’d love to come out of my corner swinging. Miles won’t know what hit him.
Madison shrugs. “It was nothing.” All of the air is sucked out of my lungs. I need to get out of here, but I’m stuck behind this ficus tree unless I want them to see me.
They start whispering intently to each other, and I only catch every few words. “Break-up. Date. Prom.” It doesn’t take a detective to piece together what is going down right now.
“Are we back together then?” Miles asks.
Mad
ison’s next words are drowned out by the electric pencil sharpener. The librarian is jamming one pencil after another into the machine. I don’t need to hear the words to know the truth. Madison is back with Miles.
Hot tears prick behind my eyes. I will not cry into a tree. I focus on the mural of a Lion on the wall and at the new books lined up on top of shelf next to me and blink until I’ve vanquished the prospect of sadness. The library has fallen into cemetery silence again now that the librarian has returned to her romance novel.
My phone vibrates. It’s Scott. Where the hell are you? I’m hungry. Let’s cut and go find real food. Sushi?
The leaves on the tree rustle as I slip my phone back into my pocket. I can reply to Scott later. “Did you hear something?” Madison asks, looking around. I hold my breath. I am the ficus tree.
“Nah,” Miles says. “Nobody wants to be here.” He fingers the fronds of a potted palm next to him. “This place gives me the creeps. Let’s go get some lunch. It’s burrito day in the caf.”
“Sure.” Madison passes by my hiding spot on her way out of the library. She is so close I can smell orange blossoms.
She’s nearly to the door when Miles reaches out and grabs her hand. “Wait a sec.” He pulls her into him and cradles her face in his meaty paws. “I missed you, Maddie,” he says before kissing her.
Bile rises in my throat as she returns the kiss. This is a million times worse than those Facebook photos. This is like watching a car crash. I can’t keep from rubbernecking.
“Take that outside,” the librarian says looking up from her book. “I don’t want to see any of that in here.”
“My bad,” Miles says as he follows a red-faced Madison out of the library.
I wait until the door slams shut before I lean over and puke into the pot. When I stand back up I meet the librarian’s eyes. I wipe my mouth. “Sorry about that.”
“I THOUGHT IT might come to this,” Scott says the following morning. I haven’t returned any of his texts or calls since I watched Madison kiss Miles in the library. Hell, I haven’t left my bed since yesterday afternoon.
Secret Heart Page 16